The Mystery of Sawyer and the Dark Letter
by FictionMission
Summary: A two-shot story in which John and Sherlock end up together, and oddly enough are somehow able to have a child. With a new baby and case on the way, the two have their hands very full. Warning: Mpreg. M/M relationship.
1. Chapter 1

**Warning: M/M Sex. Mpreg. If you don't like mpreg, then you will not enjoy this story at all. Not even a little lol.**

**Disclaimer: No, I don't own Sherlock Holmes and make no money from it.**

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Noise, noise, noise. It didn't matter which way one turned, Victorian London was awash with noise. Noisy traffic, noisy industry, street musicians, the cries of street-sellers and street collectors echoed through London. From morning till night, the costermongers could be heard crying their wares and music whether just the organ-grinder, or the full brass band seemed to surround one night and day.

Sherlock walked down the street, keeping his head low as he made his way to his new, smaller flat. Ever since Watson had moved out once he married his fiancée, there hadn't been so much need for all that extra space. Idly, he wondered for a moment how John and Mary were doing as a newlywed couple, and if they would be having any children. Perhaps he should pay them a visit soon, see how they were. Indeed, he did miss having John around. Life had changed over the past year or so after their most recent case. Or as he liked to call it, it had been a game of shadows. A conundrum so intricate it could only be described as a game, because the more complex the case the more fun it was to his mystery-hungry mind.

However, life these days was different. It was boring. Lonely. Repetitive. All things that were slowly making the detective lose his bloody mind. There hadn't been a good case yet for a year now. Scotland Yard and the police officers seemed to have everything under control, something they had disclosed to Holmes a few months ago when he insisted he give his services and help them, even if it was with a small crime. At this point, he was desperate for some case to fall into his hands. However, things had been basically calm and peaceful.

When he arrived at his home, however, he found something waiting there much better than a new client or case.

It was Watson, looking embarrassed and conflicted for some odd reason, knocking on his door loudly. The doctor knocked again a few more times, shoving his hands into his pockets as he bit his lip pensively.

"Watson?"

John jumped at the sound of his own name, smiling nervously. "Sherlock. It's been a long time, hasn't it?"

"Indeed, it has. You should write more often, honestly."

"Yes, and so should you." John replied evenly, smiling more genuinely.

The air became a bit awkward and Sherlock frowned as he realized that indeed it had been a long time and they'd allowed their close friendship to drift apart so easily. Nothing was worse than seeing a person who felt like a stranger that used to be your closest comrade. Even Holmes, who sometimes lacked common sense, could see they'd both made a mistake by not talking as often as they should've.

"Can I come in?" John asked very suddenly, gesturing to the locked door.

"Certainly."

Once inside, John nodded as he looked around. "It's nice. A bit smaller, however. I suppose Mrs. Hudson must miss you, I'm sure she was a bit upset at your leave."

"Yes, well, it's just me now. No point in holding onto the old place any longer." Sherlock quipped casually, turning around to face him slowly.

John cleared his throat, nodding again. "Yes, well, I actually came here because...well you won't believe it."

"What is going on anyway, Watson? I can usually read people right away, but you're giving me strange vibes that I can't place. Is there a problem of some sort?" Sherlock asked.

John lowered his head, smiling widely. "It's all so strange. First we were so happy and now all of a sudden Mary complains that I work too much and she is upset because we're having trouble...um, well, conceiving."

"Is this going to turn into a deep conversation? If so, let's sit first."

"Right, of course."

Once they were seated and had some drinks, John resumed his words. "Anyhow, she's just so unhappy. I don't know what to do."

"Work less and have sex more often. The solutions are quite simple. You didn't need me or anyone else for that matter to figure it out. You're a bright man, Watson." Sherlock deduced quickly, frowning a little, "So do tell me, why are you really over here?"

John frowned slowly, his eyes widening. Even after knowing this man for quite some time, his analytic skills and ability to see right past someone's words never failed to amaze him if only a bit.

"Well?" Sherlock questioned, smirking a bit. His hands were itching to fire something at John, anything to annoy him, something outlandish like he usually did but he restrained himself. Clearly, the man was actually going through some kind of marriage crisis at present. Why he chose Sherlock of all people to confide in about the matter, the detective didn't know. Perhaps Watson had missed him after all this time.

"Alright...I didn't think this far ahead. I am not quite sure what to say, frankly." John said, staring at his lap instead of Sherlock's handsome face.

"You missed me?" Sherlock guessed. "You can freely admit it, Watson. I quite missed you as well."

"It's more than that. I..." John swallowed heavily. "I do care for Mary, but I was thinking of leaving her."

"What? After everything you went through just to marry her. Do you not remember how you both were targeted, how we-!" Sherlock began quickly, only to be interrupted by a silencing hand but he persisted with his words. "The train, Watson! The bloody train! I put on makeup for you and that woman."

"I do remember and as I recall the makeup was your idea. I am grateful for your services. You're a brilliant detective, but you already knew that. I didn't come over here to stroke your ego. Not this time, anyhow." John told him seriously.

"...then just be honest with me." Sherlock murmured, eyeing him curiously.

"It's not about Mary, or your work really, it's about...me. The way that I feel." John swallowed heavily, looking like he didn't want to be there momentarily before his face grew determined suddenly, "I'm leaving Mary because I realized that I didn't just miss you."

"I don't like where this headed."

"Me either, Sherlock. Believe me."

"You don't love me, Watson. You love Mary. I saw the way you looked at her, even I being aloof most times, could see quite plainly that you love her." The detective said, staring at him incredulously.

John could see words weren't going to work anymore, and that he needed to express himself more bluntly. So he grabbed a hold of Sherlock's hair, pulling him forward in a deep, passionate kiss. It knocked the breath from Sherlock's lungs, but he didn't try to pull away or protest.

The doctor took the time to explore the other man's body once he realized Sherlock seemed fine with it. Removing the his jacket, followed by his shirt, John stared at the sight of a half-naked detective. He'd seen it many times before, but now it made his head spin. What was he doing? Was he mad? John didn't think his declaration of love would get this far so quickly. He assumed Sherlock would be disgusted and tell him he was being ridiculous, and go to back to Mary. Then again, Sherlock had never been particularly intimately close with many women, although he was chivalrous enough towards them.

"John?"

The doctor took a deep breath, realizing he'd been staring at him for too long without saying or doing anything.

"Sorry, I'm alright."

"You know, this is all very crazy Watson. You leaving your beautiful wife for me. What do you see in me that is so utterly attractive anyhow?" Sherlock asked, folding his arms.

"I don't really know." John answered truthfully. 'You excite me, you make life interesting, and I find you attractive. I wish I could say that out loud to him, perhaps one day I will have the nerve.' "I suppose you think I'm foolish."

"A little bit, yes. Why you would leave a woman like that for a man like me is incomprehensible to say the least."

"Well, you don't seem to mind getting intimate with me. I find that queer, in more ways than one." John said, smirking.

"Yes, well, if you were trying to insult me it's not going to work. I like women, but I don't trust them. So, you could say I lean more towards...men." Sherlock said, shrugging a bit with a dangerous smirk that turned John on more than he cared to fully admit.

John hadn't the slightest clue what to say to that, so instead he pulled Sherlock closer, grazing his lips against the other man's before kissing him deeply, slipping his tongue past the seam's of the other's mouth.

He felt Sherlock gasp at the sensation of having another person's tongue in his mouth, exploring wherever it could reach, massaging his own with a newfound passion. John broke away to let them both breathe again. He used this time to trail kisses from Sherlock's jaw to his throat, along his neck to his collarbone, where he bit the tender flesh, before continuing onto his pectorals.

Sherlock shuddered a bit, his gasp turning into a soft moan when John hesitantly took a dark rosy bud into his mouth and started sucking. He gave it a rough lick, enjoying the way the detective squirmed and moaned.

Clothes were ripped off and thrown to the side of the small bedroom. Their hearts were both racing, pounding - logic had completely been thrown out of the window. Instincts and lust took the place of all else at the moment. They fell down onto the bed together, their lips still locked as they took off the last pieces of clothing so that they were fully nude.

They moved so that Sherlock could easily take the other's length into mouth, while John gently stretched his entrance by slipping a slicked finger inside slowly. The detective paused, groaning at the uncomfortable feeling which caused John to gasp as the humming noise sent soft vibrations onto his manhood.

"It's alright, love." John panted. "Relax a bit."

Sherlock let his muscles relax as he sucked him off, before removing his mouth to slowly pump his shaft in his hand.

Once John felt he'd sufficiently prepared him, he moved so that he was under Sherlock and the detective straddled his hips. Sherlock stifled his loud moan of pleasure by burying his face into his fist as his entrance was painfully filled, feeling like it was nearly stretched to its limits. It felt blissfully wonderful and yet very uncomfortable as the doctor began moving, the pain quickly turning into pleasure as he grazed Sherlock's sensitive spot several times.

The detective's moans soon spilled out uncontrollably as he rode him slowly, helpless to the pleasure on his hands and knees, his eyes half-lidded and glazed over from arousal.

The pleasure was long and drawn out, the dark-haired man knew this because the evening turned into night, and even after the sun set they were still at it. The two were nearly trembling, trying not to release just yet, languidly moving their hips in order to prolong to the incredible tingling pleasure.

Sherlock's toes began curling, and he bit his lip as his cock began pulsing suddenly. The intense, almost tickling feeling flooded him suddenly, the tip of his cock straining as precum leaked out and onto the sheets.

Moans of pure ecstasy spilled from Sherlock's lips. He wriggled his hips around as John thrust into him more deeply, the blonde feeling like he was literally lost in a haze of ecstasy. Neither of them could concentrate anymore on the outside world, all they could focus was staying on the edge of release.

Suddenly, the detective's orgasm began to skyrocket. Rolling his head back, his breathing became very heavy, his eyes squeezing shut from the intensity.

"...I can't hold back anymore." Sherlock moaned, shaking his head.

His body trembled almost violently now, his hands gripping and tearing into the soft blankets beneath him. His body stiffened up and his breath became even heavier—he paused and held his breath after a few moments as he strained to hold back his orgasm and stay on the brink of orgasm for awhile longer.

Sherlock's body glistened with a thin sheen of sweat, his mouth open in a silent moan of pleasure. His body jolted, his cock twitching as John hit his prostate directly with his cock. The tingling in his loins caused his balls to tighten almost painful as he came hard. Gripping his hands into the sheets, he threw his head back and cried out loudly as his cum shot out in thick, long spurts.

John leaned forward to capture the other man's lips, moaning his pleasure as he came into his lover, unable to hold back anymore when he felt his entrance clench uncontrollably around his cock.

They stayed frozen for a few minutes, panting harshly and relishing the afterglow. John raked his hands lovingly through the other male's dark curls, smiling up at him. Sherlock reciprocated the smile, before laying down onto his chest tiredly with a content expression.

...

"Sherlock, you need to take it easy." John's firm voice sounded in the silence of their flat, but the detective was too busy rummaging through baby supplies to pay attention.

With a grunt of annoyance, Sherlock pulled his body up from the dresser full of diapers that also served as a changing table, cupping his rounded belly as he stood. "For once John, I am very nervous. Have you any idea what to do with a child? I don't. There, I admit it, I'm clueless when it comes to...ah, that dreaded word. Parenthood...I know nothing of babies, diapers, bottles and...ah, this is troublesome."

"Troublesome? Sherlock, I know neither of us were expecting the impossible to happen, but it has and we have to deal with it like adul-!" He was quickly interrupted by the witty detective, who had his hands dug into his back, his bump jutting out in front of him.

"No, not that. Contractions. They've been getting closer together." Sherlock admitted, groaning quietly as it intensified before slowly ebbing away.

Immediately, John's hand was on his belly, his face impassive yet worry filled him. He never thought he would be able to have a child after leaving Mary and settling down with the detective. Logically, two men couldn't have a baby. Yet, here they were in this strange, but incredible situation together. Sherlock grinned amusedly - it was rare to see the doctor so concerned. Usually, he was composed, the voice of reason, the indifferent one who was always there to either be his cheerleader or the one to reprimand him for his eccentric antics.

"Furthermore," Sherlock continued quietly, "this baby isn't impossible as you put it. When you have eliminated the impossible whatever remains, however improbable, must not so impossible after all. After all, I believe life can find a way sometimes." Sherlock told him, letting out a slightly relieved breath when the most recent contraction faded again.

"Indeed, it can. Life never fails to be mysterious." The doctor agreed, looking at that rounded bump that seemed lower than usual.

The baby had dropped. It would definitely be time soon. The baby was supposed to be here March tenth, but apparently he or she wasn't ready yet because the calendar now marked the seventeenth. It was St. Patrick's day, and Sherlock was a bit disappointed that he still couldn't drink. Being overdue was disappointing, actually. He wanted to see the face of his son or daughter. The consistent hunger, constant peeing, and kicking was finally driving him up a wall and was making him unusually snappy and irritated. Still, he did enjoy his pregnancy and the feeling of the baby kicking. It was all quite fascinating to him, and one of his favorite pastimes the last couple of months was to rub at his belly and talk to his unborn babe. However, now that he was overdue, he was sick of being pregnant. Sherlock had been doing everything he could to get it out lately - spicy food, sex, arguments, stress, nothing seemed to be working whatsoever.

Part of him was afraid though that because male pregnancy was indeed impossible (at least in human beings), that the child would be severely deformed or strange in some way. Not normally one to pray, Sherlock had found himself praying on his knees every night while John wasn't looking for their child to be at least a bit normal, if not healthy.

"Perhaps we should go for a walk soon, that is said to induce labor." Sherlock said out of nowhere, looking thoughtfully out of the window. It was a grey, but somewhat warm day and the rain had finally stopped. It'd been pouring seemingly constantly for weeks, which had put a damper on the pregnant male's mood as of late.

"Is it just false labor, then?" John asked.

"Well, you're the doctor, why don't you enlighten me?" Sherlock teased, turning around to face him with a smirk. "Give me your best deduction, Watson."

"I deduce...that it's the real thing this time and you need to lay down while I go grab the hospital bag." John told him calmly.

"What? Hospital?" Sherlock scoffed, smiling in a way that said 'I don't think so'. "I'm having a home birth. Those doctors and nurses wouldn't haven't the slightest idea what to do with a pregnant man. This is a rare case, mind you."

"I realize that and I'm aware." John said firmly. "But as a doctor, I practice mainly general care, I didn't specialize in...childbirth or gynecology." He nearly shuddered at the idea of Sherlock giving birth, in pain and alone in their flat, while he watched on helplessly. He didn't want that to ever happen. No, they were going to the bloody hospital whether Sherlock wanted to go or not.

"So? You are in fact a doctor. I trust you, I love you. Also, I'm giving birth here. And that's the end of it." Sherlock retorted evenly, giving a little shrug. "Now, if you'll excuse me-!"

"Hold on a bloody moment, you are not having him here!" John yelled, getting a little frustrated now.

"Or her..." Sherlock murmured so quietly John almost didn't hear him.

"What?"

"You concluded the child was male with no proof or evidence. It could just as well be a girl." Sherlock explained.

John felt like slapping his hand against his forehead and dragging it down exasperatedly. "I know, I was just assuming."

"Right, of course." Sherlock nodded. "Well then, I'm off."

"Where...?"

"For a walk. Care to join me?"

John could see he was never going to be able to talk Sherlock into resting today, so he sighed and nodded. "A short one, then you'll come back up here and rest. Understood?"

"Let's go, shall we?"

...

As the two men walked along the street, they found it was shockingly empty. Then again, it was St. Patty's day. Most people were in the pubs drinking heavily and eating good food as they laughed and talked amongst themselves.

It was better that way, because then Sherlock didn't feel the need to hide his huge belly underneath his cape. John supported him carefully, devoted and caring as always. Another pain hit about five minute later, leaving Sherlock a bit breathless this time. It radiated into his back and thighs, making him moan loudly and pause to lean against the wall of the nearby building.

John watched him with concern etched onto his handsome face. "Sherlock?" He brushed the wavy, dark curls from his lover's forehead, looking at his face carefully. It was scrunched up and turning red, his breaths coming in heavy gasps.

"Perhaps we should go back now. I think you've had enough." John told him, taking his arm again once the pain seemed to recede once more.

"Hear me, Watson - women are crazy." Sherlock breathed. "To put themselves through this pain time and time again, sometimes willingly, that is the definition of insanity. It's barely begun and I already want it out."

"Soon, love." John assured him, rubbing his back. With a sinking feeling, they both knew it wouldn't be anytime soon and that the worst of it was yet to come.

However, before they could take another step, a young woman scurried towards them with a look of confusion and hope, as though she were trying to figure out if they were the people she was looking for. It seemed that they indeed were, because her face lit up with joy. Her blonde curls bounced as she picked up her dress, hurrying towards them as she gasped for oxygen.

"Hello, gentlemen. Would you be...?" Her eyes lowered to his stomach with widened eyes, before she looked up at his face, "Sherlock Holmes?"

"Yes, that would be me..." His eyes squinted, pausing as he waited for an introduction of some sort.

She quickly took the hint, gasping delightedly as she shook his hand. "Beatrice Carter, sir. It's such an honor to meet you. I've heard much about you and I was-!"

"Sorry miss, he can't take on any cases at the moment. He's on...sick leave at present." John explained, cutting into the conversation.

"Oh, how rude of me. Nice to meet you too, Dr. Watson." She shook his hand, before adding, "I didn't realize you were sick Mr. Holmes. I'll have to come back later, then. What would be convenient for you?"

"It depends. How intricate is this case, Ms. Carter?" Sherlock asked, earning an incredulous glare from John.

"You cannot work right now, you're about to have a..."

She eyed John strangely, before gazing at Sherlock's stomach which he immediately covered up with his cloak but it was futile as she'd already seen it earlier but hadn't paid it much attention. Her need to solve her family's case had been more important, but now she was curious about him instead. His belly looked too perfectly round and he was an otherwise slim man. It couldn't be...?

"A what?" She prompted.

"It's not all that important. Now tell me, what's the mystery here? I know I'm the perfect man for the job, Ms. Carter. With my expertise and know-how, it shouldn't take long to solve." Sherlock said.

"You are being past ridiculous. You literally cannot work right now. Taking on this case would be-!"

"Exciting?"

"Foolish, beyond belief."

"Yes, but wouldn't it be-?"

"Stupid?"

"I was going to say refreshing...haven't had an excellent case in nearly a year."

"Well, the thing is, I'm not sure how to explain it but I'll try." Beatrice said suddenly, "My father disappeared three years ago and each year since I've received a pearl from some unknown person. It's always been sent by mail, but now this person wishes to give me the pearl in person at the Lyceum theatre at seven o'clock tonight. I'm scared. Can you help me?"

"Have you a letter?" Sherlock asked curiously.

"Yes, here." She said breathily, handing it over to him with a look of terror in her eyes.

"It describes you as a 'wronged woman'. How have you been wronged, Ms. Carter?" John asked, reading the note over Sherlock's shoulder curiously.

"Nosy." Sherlock said, smirking at his lover.

"Interested." John corrected, folding his arms. "Still, you can't take this case on right now. The baby-!"

"Baby?" Beatrice gasped. "...how?"

"Nevermind how, I wish I could help you but unfortunately he is correct for once." At those words, John gave him a funny yet amused look, "I must go, terribly sorry. However, here's some food for thought. You said your father had disappeared, not died. Perhaps he still lives."

"Yes, but-!"

"Alright, here's a deal for you. I shall help you solve this, but you cannot meet that person tonight. You must stay clear of that theatre. Tonight is not good for me. In fact, I think I may need at least a month or so to recover." Sherlock explained, absentmindedly rubbing his belly.

"It's fair." She conceded, nodding. "But I'm scared to go back home. I live on my own." She confessed. "I fear the sender of the letter will find where I live and hurt me, or worse perhaps even kill me."

"A young lady living on her own? How do you manage?" John asked curiously. "You don't have a husband or a lover?"

"No, but I get by well enough."

"Interesting indeed..." Sherlock murmured, staring at her calculatingly as he folded the letter up slowly.

Unfortunately, another strong pain hit just then, nearly making his knees buckle. John immediately caught the sinking man, lifting his moaning form back up onto his feet.

"Mr. Holmes? Are you alright?"

"He'll be fine. We'll keep in touch." John told her quickly, helping the pained man walk back to their home.

"Alright then, we'll meet a month from now...?" She asked hopefully.

"Yes. We'll help you. One month, no sooner I'm afraid." John responded loudly, and she nodded.

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**A/N: Thanks for reading! Reviews are always appreciated! (Also, I realize this is in the TV category not the movie one. That's my mistake, I'll fix it soon enough. Anyway, this is based off the movie version but it happens to be in this category, I'll change it in due time. Lol me and technology...).  
**


	2. Chapter 2

**Warning: M/M. Birth scene. Mpreg.**

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Once inside, John frantically called Mycroft. Why, he didn't really know. He was Sherlock's brother, yes, but from the start the man hadn't seemed to care much about the pregnancy. His reaction, as he recalled, was neither positive nor negative. John wasn't sure if no reaction was worse, but still he called the uncle-to-be anyway.

"Mycroft?"

"Who is this? Is this Watson?"

"Yes, it's me. John. I need you to come over soon."

"Whatever for?"

"Sherlock is...well, um, I think he's gone into labor."

"Don't say another word. I'll be there shortly. Goodbye."

"I'm glad. Good day then, Mycroft."

A loud moan made him nearly jump. It didn't sound merely pained - it was a moan of absolute agony. John turned around only to see a sight he never thought he would see in his life - Sherlock down on his hands and knees, gripping onto the armchair before him tightly. He seemed to be rocking his hips, trying to alleviate the pain as he groaned into the chair loudly. The sight strangely made the doctor feel a bit scared and nervous, as he'd rarely seen Sherlock in this much pain. No witty words, no casual demeanor, no banter, just...agony. John had to turn away for a moment at the sight of his lover so disheveled, and a newfound respect for the other man welled inside him for what he was going through .

"Sherlock? Do you want some water?" John asked. "Your brother will be here eventually, by the way."

"Yes." The answer was short, terse. It sounded nothing like Sherlock.

"Alright, here you go." John said calmly, handing the other a glass of cold water. Sherlock drank it gratefully, smoothing back his bangs as he did so. John helped him slick back his hair, watching him fretfully.

"Don't look at me like that. Helplessness doesn't suit you." The pregnant male said, sighing heavily.

"I can't help but worry, love." He murmured, taking a pale hand and stroking his thumb reassuringly over it in a gentle fashion.

"Perhaps after the child is born, I could meet Ms. Carter much sooner if I recover quickly enough." He murmured after a few moments.

"Are you mad? You'll need at least a month or so to fully recover from giving birth."

"My mind," The detective said, "rebels at stagnation. Give me problems, give me work, give me the most abstruse cryptogram or the most intricate analysis, and I am in my own proper atmosphere. I can dispense then with artificial stimulants. But I abhor the dull routine of existence. I crave for mental exaltation. Give me that at least, Watson. A new case after the child is born would be most-!"

"Your focus should be on the baby and your recovery, not this case. It can wait." John said firmly.

"John-!"

**"**Enough**, **Sherlock**. **Your selfish love for your own brain is utterly annoying sometimes. You're smart, capable, and witty. We get that, everyone knows it. For once, ignore your ego and focus on what's truly important. Isn't your family important to you?"

For once, the other man was totally speechless. "John...I...yes, family is indeed important. I have you now and the baby."

"Mycroft too, he'll be here." John reminded him.

"Am I so different from others?" Sherlock asked suddenly, rubbing his stomach. Although aloof, he was aware that he wasn't quite like others, but only up until being faced with impending parenthood had he truly had to acknowledge the fact. Fear of being a bad parent suddenly filled him and he frowned somewhat.

"Well, when it comes to you one can either cringe and slink away to cower in the corner with less abrasive and more boring personalities, or one can boldly embrace this personification of mental prowess that you undoubtedly possess, and slip inside the conceit canoe and journey with this most compelling of personages. I am not afraid to get into the metaphorical canoe with you because I adore you. Even when you drive me insane, I love every single thing that you do."

"Watson..." Sherlock murmured quietly, before smirking a little, "I love you, too."

John smiled, kissing him before rubbing his back as another pain started. A low humming sound began in Sherlock's throat and the doctor was suddenly aware he needed to check his progress. Men weren't supposed to have babies, so he wasn't quite sure how Sherlock was going to progress and dilate, if he even could at all. Clearly, he was having contractions, so that part was perfectly normal.

He gently pulled down his boyfriend's pants, checking his entrance. Sherlock didn't seem to mind, in too much pain to focus on anything other than breathing through it and surviving the agony ripping through his belly and lower back.

"It's too much." Sherlock panted, shaking his head suddenly.

"You're doing fine, it's okay. You seem to be...dilating. I think, at least I hope so." John said a bit uncertainly.

"Well, am I or not?" Sherlock snapped, not caring how out of character his anger was. It really bloody hurt and he wasn't having it anymore. He needed the baby out. As a man, he simply deduced he wasn't designed to handle such internal pain. Get kicked in his family jewels? Sure. Break a bone while roughhousing and fighting? Yes.

Give birth (which admittedly hurt more from what he was currently feeling)? No way, he wanted out now. However, it was too late. The baby was coming and it was all too real suddenly.

A small comfort made him calm down somewhat. "Well, your entrance is expanding a little. It's almost stretched enough for a head to fit through. It shouldn't be that much longer. How long have you been in labor?" John realized that he must've been having cramps since early this morning for him to be so dilated by now.

"The middle of the night, I believe. My water broke, but I wasn't sure if it was really that or urine. Quite frankly, I wasn't looking. It did take a lot of pressure off, however. That is when the pains started coming more and more frequently, as a matter of fact." Sherlock explained.

"What...? Why didn't you tell me this morning over breakfast that you were in labor? Actually, why didn't you tell me right away as soon as it happened?"

"Well, quite frankly, I didn't want you to worry."

"You didn't want me to worry." John repeated flatly, narrowing his eyes. "I love you dearly, but don't ever do such a thing again."

"Very well, no need to look so incredibly cross."

"What am I going to do with you?" John asked amusedly.

The door opened just then, and Mycroft glanced inside before quickly shutting the door behind him. "I'm here. How's my brother?"

The atmosphere turned awkward suddenly. The two weren't on the best terms with Mycroft, and vice versa, but this was an exceptional ordeal they were in. All feelings were pushed to the side for the arrival of the newborn baby.

"Doing great. He's nearly ready to push."

"Can I assist in some way?"

John looked around, nodding. "Yes, I need towels, warm water. Oh-! And a pair of scissors, thank you."

"Be right back." Mycroft stopped for a second, taking in his younger brother's appearance. He hadn't seen him since his first trimester, when they told him the news. "Goodness Sherly, you're about to pop. I know you must be glad that this is all almost over."

Sherlock gave his older brother a weak smile, nodding at him as they locked eyes. Mycroft smiled back, but seemed a bit nervous.

"Did you really have to invite him here?" Sherlock hissed, suddenly quite serious.

"It can't just be us two. We need a third person here to help." John insisted.

Sherlock scoffed. "I could give birth on my own if I wanted to, animals do so in nature all the time. And why not Lestrade? Or...someone else? Anyone else?"

"Too late now, forgive me."

Mycroft came up to them moments later, handing John the supplies. "Is this everything you needed?"

"It'll do, thanks..."

For the next few hours, Sherlock hummed through the pain, rocking in time with contractions on his hands and knees. His entire world was centered down to the agony he was experiencing. The outside world didn't matter much to him at this point. Faintly, he could hear their words of encouragement and John massaging his back and stomach every so often.

Sherlock cried out loudly as he felt an immense pressure all of a sudden, so intense and sharp that it literally made him freeze up. "Ah-! John!"

The doctor instantly was checking him, having never heard him sound so helpless. Mycroft watched on with passive fascination, yet he was a little concerned. Seeing his brother go through all this was embarrassing to a certain extent, but it did amaze him all the same.

"I think you're ready now. You can push, but do you mind if Mycroft supports your back?" John asked.

"Yes, of course." Sherlock ground out, panting heavily. His head rolled back as the worst contraction yet began, and he realized he was close to crying. Tears escaped his clenched eyes as he twisted his body in all and every direction as though trying to escape the pain.

"Sorry, love. I'm going to have to deliver the baby, I can't be your support. I highly doubt Mycroft will want to see everything going on down here." John explained.

"Great...perfect!" Sherlock spat heatedly, groaning as he felt the baby move down lower. "It's coming, I can't wait any longer."

Mycroft held him up enough so that he could rest his chin onto his chest and push hard. John panicked, rubbing his thigh gently.

"Stop, you can't push yet!"

"I hardly care!" Sherlock spat, grunting as he pushed harder.

"Stop." John commanded.

Sherlock relented, leaning tiredly against the man behind him. Fear gripped him as he realized he might not make it to see his baby grow up. From the statistics he'd read, nearly one in six women died from childbirth as of the current year they were in. Those odds sounded a bit dangerous and he was man at that. He wasn't supposed to be having a child, yet here he was pushing as hard as his exhausted body would let him.

"I see a head!" John exclaimed excitedly, "Okay, on my count, push."

Sherlock pushed moments later when John urged him to, stopping when told to do so. "Good job." John praised.

"How does it look?" Sherlock asked tiredly, using all his willpower not to scream aloud at the burning sensation. He could feel himself tearing also, unfortunately.

"Full head of blonde hair." John told him.

"Blonde...?"

"Yes, probably recessive from my side of the family. Does that bother you? It most likely won't stay that color."

"No, just simply curious." Sherlock said between clenched teeth, pushing again when told to.

The pain got to be too much finally and he let out a whimper, slumping a bit. John's hands worked quickly, seeing Sherlock was too drained to push anymore. That, and he was bleeding far more than what was normal.

"Mycroft, could you push down hard on his belly for me?" John demanded.

"If I must." The older man said, pushing forcefully.

The doctor's hands eased the shoulders out, pleased when Sherlock actually did give one final hard push for him despite appearing unconscious, easing the baby out quickly and onto his deflated stomach gingerly.

"He's out. It's a boy." Mycroft told Sherlock, worried at how pale his brother looked. If it weren't for the slow breathing, he would've assumed the man was dead for he looked so pale and drained.

"Look at that, he's beautiful." John said, tears unwillingly forming in his eyes and he wiped at them hastily before they could fall. He helped clear the infant's airways, getting the little boy to cry. John quickly cut the cord, bringing the screaming baby to his chest. "Sherlock? Sherlock!"

"He's barely breathing, Watson. What do we do?"

"Your concern is a little unexpected."

"For god's sake, he's dying! You're a doctor, do something!" Mycroft snapped. He was insulted, but not surprised that John thought a bit lowly of him. Still, this was his little brother. He was family.

"Right, right." John murmured, inwardly freaking out. This was supposed to be a happy moment. Right now the baby should be in Sherlock's arms, he should admiring the new little life they'd created together, but he laid there bleeding heavily instead with the color totally gone from his face.

"Mycroft, can you gently clean your nephew up? My thanks." John said hastily, quickly working on stopping the bleeding. He let out an aggravated sound, narrowing his eyes to slits. "Come on Sherlock, you've survived ordeals before, you can't just go like this. I won't allow it."

The older of the Holmes' brothers held the baby in his arms, his crying slowly lowering in volume as he was wrapped in a warm blanket and tiny wool hat. His little fists were curled by his face, his eyes slightly open and oddly alert and intelligent for a newborn baby. His wavy blonde hair was matted to his forehead, his cheeks rosy, and his full lips puckered into a little pout.

Mycroft tried to ignore the devastating scene before him, his instincts telling him he was witnessing a death. A death that John was trying to prevent, but nothing seemed to be working. He had bled too much during birth, plain and simple. His organs couldn't keep up with the blood loss and his heart was slowing down, his breathing becoming shallow and scarce.

Instead, the man looked at his nephew, at the beautiful infant in his arms. "He's precious. Such a serious little fellow already. I think you'll be like your fa...eh, your mother."

"How is he?" John asked, turning around to look at the tiny baby. "Please tell me that he's at least okay."

"The baby is perfectly fine." Mycroft assured him. "Born on March eighteenth, hm? He's a Pisces I believe. I think he looks like an Edward or a Barlow."

"It's Sawyer."

"Sawyer? That name isn't very common and quite dreadful if you ask me."

"It's the name Sherlock wanted...and to be quite honest you two don't exactly have common names either." John murmured, seeming to give up as he shakily raised his blood coated hands. "I think we've lost him."

"What?" Mycroft was instantly by his brother's side, looking at the pale unmoving body. "Are you sure he's passed away?"

"I think so. There's no pulse." John said evenly, his voice breaking only slightly, but inside his heart was breaking. He'd lost men before, but not a man that he truly loved.

"Now Watson, any decent doctor knows that's the worst way to check to see if someone is alive. It's not foolproof."

"Oh?" John looked offended. "Is there a better way? He's dead, Mycroft! Get that straight."

"A light." Mycroft handed Sawyer over to John, and for a moment the doctor was captivated by the small, handsome baby. He was so soft and tiny. Placing a kiss on his forehead, he felt tempted to smooth the blonde hair back until he realized his hands were still covered in blood.

Opening Sherlock's eyes, Mycroft held a candle close enough for him to see, but not to burn his skin. The pupils shrank in size, becoming very small. "He's still here with us, but barely." He did one more test, by softly brushing the cuff of his shirt along the younger detective's eyeballs. Sherlock blinked rapidly in response.

John laid the baby in the small bassinet, before moving to give him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Mycroft moved away, watching as he tried to completely revive his brother. It seemed to be working, because Sherlock coughed suddenly, breathing a bit more normally after a few moments. He was still very pale, but the bleeding had finally stopped.

Dressing him quickly and giving him a extra blanket to sleep on (for the slight bleeding), he carried him to the bed and wrapped him in warm blankets.

"Please make it through the night," John murmured, taking a pale hand, "I can't do this without you. Besides, you still have many more mysteries to solve yet, don't you?"

Naturally, he received no answer from the sleeping man, but he expected it so he smiled warmly instead.

"I could stay the night if you wish." Mycroft said.

"Not necessary, thank you."

"How will you feed him?"

John's eyes widened. He hadn't thought of that. Looking at the baby that laid in his crib, he frowned unsurely. How would they feed the baby?

Lifting the tired, whimpering baby into his arms, he sat down next to Sherlock. This was going to be awkward, but he didn't have much choice. It's not like they had a maid on hand to breastfeed their child for them. He revealed the detective's chest easily by pulling his shirt up, swallowing heavily at the nipples that were more swollen than usual. Laying the baby on his side, he tried to get him to drink from his unconscious, weak mother who was too tired to even wake up.

Luckily, the baby latched on and began actually feeding much to the amusement and disgust of the two men.

"It worked..." John murmured, laughing disbelievingly.

"Life is very odd indeed." Mycroft said, smirking. "But I'm glad they're alright. I should be leaving now, but do update me on how they're doing. Perhaps I'll visit again sometime soon."

"Will do and please drop by more often. As often as you'd like."

"Don't push it, Watson."

"...okay. Well anyhow, thank you for your help tonight. It's much appreciated, you know."

"No problem. Well, I'll be off now. Oh, and this is for Sawyer." Mycroft said, handing it over. "I assumed it was a boy, I had a feeling, so it's a good thing it turned out to be a son or else this gift wouldn't be all that useful."

"Thank you." It was a few boys outfits' and a soccer ball. John smiled, though he neglected to tell the other man just because it was a boy, didn't mean he would want to play sports or enjoy them.

"I'm off."

"Goodbye."

...

Once the baby was done feeding, John held him in his arms, admiring his son. His son. He could hardly believe it. The joy he felt couldn't be expressed in mere words, it was a love he hadn't felt before. His view of Sherlock had changed drastically in one night. He knew no matter what disagreements came about or even if they separated for whatever reason, he would always respect him for giving him his son.

He must've held him for hours, too excited and overjoyed to sleep. It was the middle of the night now, almost four in the morning but he just couldn't go to bed. The little infant needed someone to watch him, so if he wanted to sleep that was out of the question anyway.

"Sawyer Watson? Or Sawyer Holmes? I suppose I'll have to discuss it-!"

"Watson...I prefer the first one." A tired voice answered, making John quickly walk over to the bed from the chair he'd been seated in. The baby cried softly at the abrupt movement and the doctor rubbed the baby's back comfortingly as he hoisted him carefully onto his chest.

"Sherlock? Are you alright?"

"I need the loo. And something to eat, I'm terribly hungry. Have we got anything to eat?" Sherlock asked tiredly, yawning as he moved gingerly on the bed. John knew he must've been sore and light-headed most likely.

"Wait, look." John said.

"Oh, right...how could I possibly forget? How is the child?" Sherlock asked, trying to appear normal again, but he still sounded weak and not quite like himself.

"He's fine. Here, hold him." John said, placing him into the other male's arms.

Sherlock's face softened slightly at the sight of the baby. He traced the forehead, the chubby cheeks, the smooth lips with awe plastered on his handsome face. "He's tiny. Perfect, absolutely the most wonderful thing I've ever had the pleasure of creating."

John smiled at his love's choice of words, always entertained by his eccentric way of speaking. "Yes, he's amazing, isn't he?"

"Yes, he's perfect." He was completely fascinated by this little being in his arms, that was so innocent and such a fresh slate, just waiting to be filled with knowledge. Sherlock allowed a rare, warm smile to grace his lips as he cuddled the boy closer to him. "I'm sure he will no doubt be intelligent, I can't wait to see what his personality is like."

"Well, the chances of him being smart are quite high, I must admit." John agreed.

"This one looks like me, with blonde hair. I wonder what the next one will look like?" Sherlock murmured curiously.

"The next one...?" John paused, amazed that after that agonizing ordeal that Sherlock would even entertain the idea of another baby so soon.

"Yes. I want both a girl and a boy. We've got our boy, now we just need the girl. Having a daughter would be wondrous, since women are the biggest mystery of all in my opinion. Of course, considering how rare this pregnancy was in the first place, I shall not get any hopes up."

"We'll need a bigger place if we have another child." John realized, looking around the relatively small flat.

"Well, we'll cross that bridge when we get there. Or if we get there, rather." Sherlock replied, taking a tiny hand and admiring it, and how small it was in contrast to his larger one.

John came to sit next to him, taking the baby gently from him. "I'll go make a run to get us something to eat. What would you like?"

"It's nearly breakfast, so perhaps eggs and bacon? The stores aren't open yet though, so biscuits will have to suffice for now." Sherlock said, going into the bathroom to relieve himself. He was a bit put off by how sore he still felt and how oddly empty his belly was. It was relieving to have the baby out, of course, but strangely he missed his bump. Looking into the mirror, rather than a perfectly firm rounded belly, he was dismayed to see quite a soft, somewhat saggy chubby physique instead. However, he'd worry about the baby weight later, he had more important things to focus on such as Sawyer and this new case that young woman had brought to him yesterday.

A tray of biscuits, tea, and water were waiting for him on the bed. John smiled as he came in, kissing him gently when he sat down.

"You look bloody tired, Watson. Get some sleep." Sherlock told him.

"Wow, the paternal instincts are already coming out, are they? I'm glad." John said teasingly, moving to lay down on the bed.

Before he laid down to sleep, however, he brushed back the other man's bangs. "Thank you for our son. I'm proud of you, Sherlock. You did well."

For the first time, the detective felt his face grow terribly hot as a blush dusted his cheeks. "It's merely birth, it happens all the time. Perfectly natural. You don't have to thank me."

"Just because it happens all the time doesn't mean it's not extraordinary. You're a marvel, love. I could never go through what you went through tonight." John murmured, kissing him softly, before moving to slip underneath the warm heavy blankets.

"Thank you." The dark-haired man murmured, unable to think of anything else to say to those warmly spoken words.

Sherlock noticed it was five in the morning, sighing softly. Rather than go back to sleep, he ate the biscuits while watching Sawyer sleep. Every movement from their child fascinated him, he was completely taken by the beautiful little boy laying next to him. Sherlock looked over at his other 'boy', who was snoring lightly into the pillows on the other side of the bed.

Joy surged through him as he watched over his little family. They had a new baby, possibly a new case, and life was good again. Enjoying the happiness while it lasted, Sherlock kissed the child's forehead before putting Sawyer back in his crib in the small make-shift nursery he had made. It was nicely decorated though, with a nice padded blue and green crib and several toys waiting for Sawyer to play with once he got old enough. There was a soft rug that was baby blue, courtesy of Lestrade, and a trunk full of some baby clothes they'd purchased over the months.

Sawyer was the biggest mystery to date, Sherlock idly realized. How a man could produce a healthy child from his own body, was the ultimate enigma. His new baby boy and the strange letter given to him by Beatrice, both exciting, new, and equally enthralling.

Sherlock slipped under the covers next to John and fell asleep very quickly. Today they weren't a couple anymore, they were now a family.

* * *

**A/N: Well, I hoped you enjoyed! Sorry about the OOC-ness. I've only recently gotten into this series, and I'm still trying to get a grasp on their characters and mannerisms. Anyway, thanks for reading! Reviews are appreciated as always!**


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